


The Way It Should Be

by dreadwulf



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, First Time, post Dark Ritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwulf/pseuds/dreadwulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the unpleasant experience of performing the Dark Ritual with a reluctant Alistair, Morrigan is comforted by the Warden, who shows her what making love should be like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way It Should Be

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash February on Tumblr.

_So that's what all the fuss is about,_ Morrigan thinks, as she straightens her skirts and lies back on the bed.

It was a task to accomplish, the Dark Ritual, and she has done it. The boyking warden has rutted with her, and she has taken his seed. Even now the magic is working inside her, preparing a vessel for the Old God soul to occupy.

Morrigan stares at the ceiling. The room is warm and comfortable, with the largest and softest bed she has ever occupied and a crackling fire at her feet. She is surrounded with fine, beautiful, useless things. She pictures it happening within her womb. Assuming they are able to destroy the Archdemon, and she assumes they will, she will begin to grow and swell, to carry life inside her, a life quite unlike any that has walked the world before. A child, and not a child. 

She aches a little. It was not... pleasant, what they did together. But they had not done it for pleasure. He had penetrated her with something like grim determination, both of them gritting their teeth to get the thing done.

It is a relief to have it over with.

After a little time has passed there is a soft knock at the door, so light that Morrigan thinks she must have imagined it. But the door opens, and the Warden peeks in. 

"Are you all right?" she asks.

Morrigan does not stir. "Of course I'm fine," she says dismissively. She stays laying back on the bed, unwilling to move.

Jendra Tabris closes the door behind herself with a quiet click. She does everything quietly except speak, when she has a thing to say. 

She tucks her black hair behind her long ears, and a furrow deepens above her violet eyes. "Did it work out? I saw Alistair fleeing to his room..."

"It is done," Morrigan issues flatly.

Jendra seats herself beside the bed, wearing an unfamiliar green robe, one that nicely compliments her chestnut complexion. Her body is not so weathered as her face, it seems smoother, softer. The mage tries not to look at her. She has never seen the Warden in ought but her leathers; it is strange to see. She wishes the Warden would leave her alone.

The elf speaks to her in the sisterly way she has taken to, of late; as a more worldly woman advising a youngster. "My first time was also difficult. He was a nice enough boy, but hardly experienced either--"

"You are not so much older than I am," she objects, "to address me so."

"But I am right, aren't I? You have never taken anyone to bed before tonight."

Morrigan frowns. "Should I have? Honestly, I cannot see why anyone does it, if that is all there is."

"Oh, Morrigan." Jendra looks sad for her. "My friend, I am sorry. You have likely saved our lives with this ritual. You didn't get any enjoyment out of it?"

The dark-haired woman sits up straight and proud.. "It is no matter. The spell has worked; I will have the child. That was all I wished for."

"Was it?" Impossibly, the Warden seems even more sad than before. She joins Morrigan on the bed, and takes her hands. "You wish only to fulfill these elaborate plans, and they aren't even _your_ elaborate plans. _You are more than a vessel, Morrigan,_ either for your mother or for this child. You are a powerful, beautiful woman. When a man touches you, it should be... special."

Morrigan's ruby lips twist ruefully. "Special," she echoes.

Her mind is readying yet another deflection, a speech about how little such human customs and traditions mean to her. All these meaningless liasons, and "first times", and polite kisses goodnight, and spending the night in someone's arms. An obligation, to share a bed after sex, rather than simply getting some sleep in their own beds, as would be practical. All of these silly things.

But she is tired, and there is a strange tightness in her chest. 

"He was not rough with you, was he?" Jendra is still holding onto her smooth hands, with her tiny, calloused ones. "If he was, I will have to stab him. That wouldn't ruin the spell, would it?"

Morrigan laughs. It is a good laugh, that dissipates some of the tension in her body.

"No, he was not. He was merely.. impersonal. As was I, I imagine."

"Impersonal. Did he kiss you?"

"Should he have? No, there was no need."

Jendra shakes her head. "Have you ever kissed someone, Morrigan?" 

She startles, when the Warden says her name. There is something different about it, the way she speaks it, and Morrigan has never been able to discern what precisely the difference is. The pronounciation is no different, there is no hint of mockery. There is some inflection to it that is not quite audible; it makes her shiver a little. 

"No," she finally admits. 

"Well. That will not do." A familiar expression comes over the elf, the determined set to her jaw that indicates a task to be done, and her absolute insistence on its being done properly. "Your first experience in making love, and a child inside of you, and you have never been kissed? It isn't right!"

Morrigan is amused. "Oh? What will you do, then? Recruit the assassin to kiss me? I believe he is already ensconced with one of the skullery maids, if I'm not mistaken. And I absolutely will not kiss the dwarf, drunk or sober."

"Let me do it, then. In thanks, for your help. For doing this ritual."

She blinks in astonishment. She had not considered that. "You? But..."

"We may very well perish tomorrow, in the fight with the Archdemon. You, or I, or both of us. Perhaps nothing else will matter after that. Let me give you your first kiss, Morrigan."

Morrigan laughs a little. It is preposterous. But what does it matter? It will make the Warden happy, and the Warden has helped her to accomplish her goals more than once. "All right, if you insist." 

Jendra's large violet eyes seem to swallow the world as she leans into her and touches their lips.

It is soft, very soft, and sweet. 

It occurs to Morrigan, in the long, slow moment that she is kissing Jendra, that this is what lips are for -- not for speaking, or eating, but for this exchange of sensation, and a woman's lips most of all. Surely a man's lips would not be this endlessly soft.  

She is shot through with an electrical shiver, that is so like and unlike the rush and flow of her magic. But the Warden has no magic, for her to react so. It is passing strange, all of this.

"How was that?" Jendra asks her, and Morrigan has never heard her speak so softly before. She is still very close, and the mage notices tiny flecks of gold in her eyes, a match to the gold of the mirror that the Warden had given her, to her own golden irises. 

"It is... pleasant," she confesses.

The Warden is pleased; she grins, and sweet lines form around her mouth and her eyes. The mage has a mad notion of touching those lines with her fingertips, to assure herself that they are indeed there, that she has put them there.

"We should do such pleasant things, before we go to battle," Jendra tells her gently, wisely. "There is value in it, the pleasure of the flesh. It is why the spirits envy mortal bodies. They give us joy."

"But there is no purpose," Morrigan protests, but she is not sure.

"It is its own purpose." Jendra kisses her again, briefly. She is still holding on to the mage's hands, as though she were a wild thing that might bolt at any second. "Let me show you pleasure, Morrigan. Let me show you what it _should_ be, to make love."

Whenever the Warden kisses her, Morrigan loses her trail of thought. It is so _interesting_ , kissing. So many different sensations. The Warden's lips become firm at times, they pull and suckle at her own clumsy mouth. Then there is a different caress at her lips, and Morrigan had _forgotten_ about tongues, but of course that is what one does with them. Gingerly she extends her own tongue to greet the invader, and when they meet, a new swell of excitement rushes through her, and her heart pounds wildly in her chest.

Now they are kissing while lying down together, and it is _even better_.Jendra's hand is just brushing the bare flesh at her waist, and this simple touch sends shivers up and down her spine. It is good, this touching. She had never realized how good it might be, to be touched. It is a little like her magic, the way it sizzles in her skin when she calls it up, but that was only the ghost of a touch, and this is real.

Jendra takes her time, her hand wandering lazily up and down her slender torso and watches her. "I have never seen you smile so much," she says. When Morrigan attempts to frown, the elf brings her hand to her pale cheek. "No, don't stop. I love your smile. It has brightened all these long dark days, that smile."

Morrigan does not know what to say anymore, so she kisses the Warden, and this is good. 

She undresses again. Only an hour ago she had been naked in this bed, and brandished her nakedness as a weapon before the uneasy Alistair, used it to command the situation as she mounted him determinedly. Now she is bare again, but somehow even more naked, more exposed. 

Jendra moves only her hands, does not crowd her. She caresses every patch of ivory skin as it is uncovered, and each caress is a new delight. Morrigan tries to remove the Warden's robe, but only manages to open it a little - the elf distracts her every time she tries. She seems reluctant to expose herself. "Too many scars," she murmurs.

She is so small, Jendra; in battle she is tiny and viscious, a low-to-the-ground tornado of knives and blood. She has always shrugged off damage to herself, and Morrigan has admired that. She would like to see these scars. But the Warden only smiles and hugs her robe around herself. Morrigan fingers the green silk, cups the elf's breasts through it until she giggles girlishly.

The Warden climbs on top of the mage. The silk robe feels nice against Morrigan where she straddles her. "Let me show you how it should be," she says again. Her pillowy lips visit Morrigan's collarbone, trailing all along it, and her fingers wander lower. Morrigan's hands grasp her thighs. They are impossibly firm, all muscle. She feels them all up and down, pushing up the silk to reveal more of her brown skin. She is grinding her hips into the Warden, almost involuntarily, and her breath comes faster and harder. She needs more. She wants to demand from the elf, plead with her, but she doesn't know quite what she is asking for.

Then Jendra's lips encircle her nipple, and it is one new thing on another. Fingers pressing into the wetness between her legs, caressing her thatch of hair, erasing all memory of what came earlier, that brutal transaction now transformed into an exchange of pleasure. Those fingers slide inside her, the warden still at her breast, her tongue lathing against her delicate aching nipple. Thrusting in and out. Circling. Then the other breast, and teeth, and she is bucking now, her back arching into the Warden's mouth. She hears herself crying out and it sounds like someone else, someone passionate and ecstatic and uninhibited.

Mindless now, she thrashes under the Warden, throbs, cries out uncontrollably in her release. It goes on, wave after wave of it, ebbing and cresting again with the Warden inside her to urge her ever on. 

Finally it ends, and Jendra is lying atop her and her own arms encircle the Warden tightly. She is a pleasant weight. She stays there, smiling sleepily, and Morrigan does not ask her to go. It seems they will both sleep fine this way. It is sensible after all. 

Before sleep catches her, she tells herself that she must ensure that the Archdemon does not kill either one of them tomorrow, because there is _so much more_ to learn about the ways of the flesh, and she will need the Warden to learn them properly.


End file.
